


Spices and Sabotage

by OhWowAltMal



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Food Trucks, Gen, Kravitz is Tired, M/M, Rivalry, Taakitz Week, and not an ex, dinner dates gone bad, sazed is not a major character, speedrun edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhWowAltMal/pseuds/OhWowAltMal
Summary: When a food truck steals his favorite parking space and disrupts his everyday office hours, Kravitz eventually takes it into his own hands to deal with the situation. One petty theft and fumbled meetings later, Kravitz finds himself with a budding rivalry between himself and the weirdly charming owner of the food truck, Taako - and between avoiding Barry's offers of dinner with his wifes brother and finding himself suddenly a pawn in a revenge game, Kravitz finds himself in a very, very frustrating situation.Also, his car wont stop smelling like onion rings.He doesnt even like onion rings.





	1. Chapter 1

The truck was a crouching eyesore; gleaming and golden, unmoving, frustrating, and manic. 

It had first made its appearance little over three weeks ago, and Kravitz, of course, had been the first to make the discovery; mostly due to the fact that it was parked in his usual parking space, but also because it was pretty damned hard to miss. Had the windows in his office not been tinted he was sure he would have gone blind from the suns glare off of its gilded, tin walls, _ ‘sizzle it up with _ _ Taako _ _ ’ _written in looping, extravagant font along the sign and side of the vehicle. There was a menu, supposedly. Kravitz had never really gone to see what they offered. 

Partially because he never needed to – he packed his lunch at home, thank you very much, like a responsible, well put together adult who absolutely didn’t eat hot pockets for dinner – but mostly out of spite. The truck stole his best parking space. It wasn’t like it was a distance issue, really, there were plenty of available parking spaces in the lot; it was the principlebehind it, the gall of it, the absolute defiance of basic social rules and niceties displayed by the act that made him bristle. 

“You’re a lawyer, you know,” Barry mumbled through his half-eaten subway sandwich, chewed up bits of salad making miniature missiles that targeted Kravitz’s suit. “Can’t you just like, sue them?” 

He played with his own leftover chicken and rice, mixed together in Tupperware to give the illusion that it wasn’t from the frozen section of the supermarket. It was a thought he’d considered before. “I mean, _ technically _it's on public property, and I'm assuming the guy has a permit to park there.” 

“Ah, see, there you go, first mistake.” Barry waggled his finger accusingly and choked down the rest of his lunch, finally clear to speak. “Always assume ignorance or stupidity. You’d be right ninety percent of the time.” 

“That's not exactly a good mindset to have in my particular workplace, Barry.” He raised his eyebrows. “If everyone thought that, I wouldn’t have a job.” 

“Boo. Go throw somebody in jail or something, leave me to my rhetoric, its good shit. Works cos I'm a people person. Unlike _somebody_.” He trailed off, his sentence accusing and teasing, and Kravitz rolled his eyes not taking the bait. 

“I’m plenty of a people person. It's _kind of _In the job requirements, unlike yours.” 

“Yeah, if you plan on making friends with _criminals_.” Barry protested. “I’m just saying man, I'm like, the only guy you talk to anymore – and I get your work is busy and it's hard with your own firm and all that junk, but you gotta get out sometime! At least come over for dinner to meet Lup or something – you know, she's been dying to meet you ever since grad.” 

Not that he would ever admit it, and not that he would ever give Barry the smug satisfaction, but the guy kind of had a point. Even law school with its long studious hours and years of mock trials, tedious research and mind-numbingly repetitive lectures had been filled with the sweet reprieves of frat parties and bar hopping; Kravitz was sure he had lost a good chunk of his memory to the bottom of vodka bottles, stolen from the fumbling hands of Barry who was always slumped against his shoulders pale and sweating pure alcohol. Poor guy could never really handle his booze. Never stopped him from trying, though. 

But after graduation things had...all changed. Law was hard and devoted work, even more so when you have a family legacy to keep up, and Kravitz wasn't one for disappointment or burnouts. It had taken him years to make a name for himself, and even longer to be comfortable starting his own firm; and though his social life – and romantic life, something his mother was endlessly needling about – suffered because of it, going to work every day with that satisfaction of knowing people came to him, _ chose _to come to him and his firm for their troubles, was worth it. 

Pay was pretty good, too; but he wasn’t in it for the money. 

Now that he was comfortable with his career, though, he was beginning to totally-not-regret-but-maybe-just-think-about not keeping in touch with his university friends and expanding his social circle. Barry - a total fluke, really - had reconnected through the mutually shared space of a lunch café and the same break times, and had expanded his social circle from a zero to a one. And, while Kravitz had never actively been a social bird, it was just a little bit pathetic. Just a _ little _sad. But hey, he was making an effort – Barry had introduced him to Magnus and Lucretia, him an enthusiastic woodworker and her the towns reserved librarian, and they had gotten along just fine. Sure they never hung out without Barry around, but it was a start. Kravitz had even had them over for a movie night last week. All by himself! 

Okay, so he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly just yet, but things were looking up if he could say so himself. He was happy with his lunchtime chats and snail-pace social expansion – even if some nosy people weren't. 

“_Just you_ and Lup for dinner, Barry? Just you two? Or will I show up only to find a surprise guest?” He tossed out only lightly lilted with accusation, sipping his shitty coffee and watching Barry splutter. 

“Well - I mean, I would personally rather have it just be the three of us, but you know I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to, and she would - I mean she would _insist_, Kravitz -” 

And boom goes the dynamite. 

“I don’t need you to set up blind dates for me, Bluejeans. Least of all when it's your wife's brother – your wife, of whom may I remind you, I still haven't met.” 

“Aw, c'mon, my man!” Barry protested, “I know you, and I know you’ll like him, you just gotta give it a chance. What have you got to lose?” 

“My dignity. My evening. Any good relationship I plan to have with your wife.” Deadpanned. Barry didn’t flinch. 

“You’re making a huge deal out of nothing, Kravitz.” 

“_You'r__e _beginning to sound like my mother.” He tutted, unwavering, and Barry simply snorted. 

“I would give my left arm to have the legal and personal prowess of that woman, don’t think that has any effect on me.” He retorted, Kravitz rolling his eyes and grinning. 

“Regardless. I’ll come to dinner if it's only you two – and as long as you're not the one doing the cooking.” he downed the rest of his coffee, giving him a pointed look. “I don’t want a repeat of the Oatmeal Rice Incident. I don’t think my stomach ever recovered.” 

Barry chuckled, crossed his heart, and the chair screeched against wooden paneling as he stood. “That one I can promise, I’ve been practically banned from the kitchen for all social events. Youll love Lups cooking – better if it was -” 

“Nope, stop, absolutely not.” He cut off all further conversation with a frantic waving of his hands, standing and frantically gathering his gear. “I don’t need this today, Barry, stop, please, I am literally going to die. I am so tired of this, Barry. I am so tired.” 

“Dying would do wonders for the goth look, you know.” A gesture to his suit and an overused gag, the two of them sharing a look of tired amusement and well-worn patience. 

“Go back to your work on literal corpses, Bluejeans.” 

With a wink his friend was out the door, jean jacket pulled over his shoulder and shouting a final goodbye with a sloppy wave. “I’ll enjoy it!” 

It sat there. 

Taunting him. Shining in the sun. Bustling with activity and pumping with_ Americas top 50 hits_, exhaling heat and fumes and the smell of raw onion. Already Kravitz could feel a headache coming on as he walked past the parking lot and towards his office, the cheery faces of men and women eating – what looked like actually appealing, against all odds – tacos and quesadillas and tamales and a whole variety of foods only serving to grate on Kravitz’s nerves even further. 

It didn’t help that it happened to be a fantastic day outside, and the only plans he had until sundown was going through evidence and having and many, many client meetings. 

_ So many _client meetings. 

“Afternoon, boss.” Brad Bradson, carrying a pile of papers and pens, greeted as he trudged into the office, massaging his temples. Even through the solid oak door, his nice, polished door with that fancy golden plate engraved in it, even through that and the triple-glazed windows Kravitz could hear the pounding of the music. It was driving him crazy. 

“How do you _ stand _it?” He groaned, collapsing into his office with a huff, and Brad only shrugged. 

“I just learned to tune it out, I guess. Makes nice white noise.” 

“Ugh.” 

“The guy also makes some wicked croquettes.” 

Kravitz groaned louder and thunked his head against his desk. “You’re a traitor, Brad. I cannot _believe _you defected. I'll have you shot for treason.” 

The orc only laughed as he left him in relative peace, only brought by isolation, and not by silence. 

How could he still hear it through two different shut doors? How_ powerful _were that guy's speakers? 

The day dragged on, and on, and even more on, all to the background noise of bass-boosted Ed Sheeran that made several meetings extremely awkward and drove the growing headache to a pounding climax in Kravitz’s head. How do you talk about game plans and potential witnesses when fucking Selena Gomez is wailing through your windows? Half of his new clients looked like they regretted ever hiring him, the other half doubtful of his abilities, and honestly, he couldn’t even blame them. It was hard to appear professional when he had his own private slice of Coachella sitting right across his business. 

At ten o’clock, Kravitz turned off the lights, and locked up his building, and walked past the still_ fucking _bustling taco truck to get to his car, and he swore that he could still smell oregano even after sinking onto his couch at home to clutch his head in his hands and sigh. 

Working in law made long days at work. He didn’t need them to be longer. 

Morning came far too early in the form of an alarm ringtone and soft light through open windows, and by the time Kravitz realized he was out of instant coffee, he knew it was going to be a really bad day. 

It got worse when he forgot his lunch, and knew he was probably going to have to buy something wildly expensive from a café somewhere, else he starve for the day and order enough takeout once he got home he would feel guilty about it for the rest of the week. 

Worse, when Brad texted him a reminder that today was his day off. 

Worse, when he remembered Barry was having lunch with Lup today. 

And worse, when he pulled into the parking lot to discover not only was the taco truck already open and humming for business, but it had moved, right into Kravitz’s newer _fucking _parking space. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered to himself, pulling into an empty space as far away from the truck as physically possible. His car still smelt like onion rings from that time someone forced him to park _beside _the truck, and he wasn’t taking any further risks with any of that, thank you very much. 

He didn’t even _like _onion rings. 

This was ridiculous. Kravitz had earned his spot here – earned his business, earned his right to practice, earned his right to park. Yes, sure, it was a public parking zone and technically the guy had a warrant to be there – he'd read it over and over again, inlaid with plain black text just to the side of the serving window. And yes, Kravitz may or may not have spent too much time googling food permits to make sure it was legal. Kravitz may or may not have an immense, if worthless, amount of knowledge on the legality of food permits now. None of that mattered of course, because regardless of whether or not this man had the right to be there, it was still absolutely ridiculous and made no goddamn sense that he would even have moved spots at all after being there for weeks. Months? Who could tell? It was all Food Truck hell to him now. Time was meaningless and smelt like cilantro. 

The stack of papers sitting heavy in his briefcase reminded him that time wasn’t meaningless after all, and was, in fact, something he was severely lacking in. 

His hands were gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity as he death-stared the truck, acutely aware of the seconds ticking by, the muffled pounding of Demi Lavato’s newest album. Why was he even open? It was six in the morning. Who buys taco truck food at 6 am? 

Kravitz realized a very large majority of the people he knew and worked with would fit into that category of people. Kravitz did not know what to do with this information, and did not know if he liked it or not. 

He decided he did not like it, much on the account of the fact the truck chose that exact moment to flicker into life and swing its serving window open, immediately making the music three times louder and bone-jarring. 

“Fuck this,” he muttered to himself. He was sick of this. Sick of the constant music, the busy parking lot, the oil spills and irremovable smell of dill pickles from his work shoes. Sick of constantly having clients show up with dirty napkins and raving compliments and fucking _B__rad _showing up with a paper tray heavy with pork carnitasas . Sick of this stupid, _infuriating _food truck. 

Sure, he didn’t exactly have legal means to get this guy to leave. Sure, there wasn’t actually any conceivable problem to this truck being here aside from it being a pain in his ass, and he couldn’t exactly write that down on a formal complaint application. And yes, sure, it seemed that Kravitz was literally the only person on this entire street that was actually bothered by this truck. But none of that meant he couldn’t _try._

Lawyer jargon is a hell of a thing in the wrong hands. At 6.05 on a cold, bitter Tuesday morning, Kravitz’s hands were the wrong ones. 

The slam of his car door would have been loud in the quiet of the street, except the street wasn’t quiet, but loud and full of pop music. People walking by didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care. The truck was right by his path to his office, anyway, so he would have to walk past – why not just have a quick conversation? Why not just see who's been the bane of Kravitz’s existence for the past two months? Why not peep in and find out what the physical manifestation of evil looked like? He pictured horns and a dirty apron. 

There wasn’t a line yet, considering the truck had barely just opened. The lack of an audience spurred him on – because in the back of his mind he knew, yes, this was a very stupid idea, he had no good reason to confront this guy aside from annoyance and general, primal anger. But if he was going to make a fool of himself (a reality that was becoming more and more likely with each step he took closer) at least nobody would be there to bear witness. 

It was good Kravitz understood that this was a stupid idea, because sometimes Kravitz has very stupid ideas, and life decides to punish him in return for going through with them. Sometimes life also rewards him, but reward and punishment are often mistaken for each other, so it's hard to tell. Most of the time he assumes it's just bad luck. 

“Hey there handsome, what can I get ya?” 

And this was very bad luck. 

Of course, the man who ran the Taco truck that had become an antagonist to his story, the nightmare across the street, the trigger for his headaches, of _course, _the man who ran this truck was literally the most stunning man Kravitz had ever seen. 

Even in a worn hairnet, and even in a dirty apron. Even with smudged sauce on his cheek and setting down a hot sauce bottle. This was very, _ very _bad luck. 

“You just gonna check out the goods or are you up for buyin too?” The man spoke again, draping himself across the front counter like a sated cat, tucking a loose strand of long golden hair behind his ears and looking at him expectantly. “Not that I blame you, like, you’re givin’ me _ ample _time to window shop myself, but I do got a business to run here.” 

Your job is literally all about confrontations and accusations, focus on what you came here for – does it take you nothing but a pretty boy who winks at you to throw you off your stride? 

Kravitz cleared his throat, fixed his posture and tie, and the man raised his eyebrows in a mock impression. “Oooh. Am I getting a telling off? Have I been a naughty cook? You gonna arrest me, hotshot?” 

He had a mouth to him too. This truck was going to ruin his life. 

“I’m here simply to ask if you would kindly vacate off of these premises as soon as possible. Your workplace hours are disrupting the rest of us,” he jabbed with his thumb at the row of offices to his side, the man following lazily with his gaze before drifting back to Kravitz with an unaffected smile, “and it would be best for both parties if you moved somewhere else.” 

The chef chewed on it. Glanced over at the office buildings – having to lean over the bench to see and letting his nametag clip out from under his shirt, reading ‘Taako’, and surely that was a gag – and reached behind him to pull out a pen, a pad of paper, and chewed on the end before beginning to write. If he had the opportunity to, Kravitz was sure he would have popped some gum and filed his nails. 

“Actually, stud,” he talked as he wrote, and Kravitz chose to ignore the term of endearment, “it's actually totally cool if I stay, I got a permit and everything. Here, see?” and he tore off the page, handing it to Kravitz. 

It read_ ‘ _ _ i _ _ do what I want – _ _ Taako _ _ ' _ with a rather crude drawing of himself giving the middle finger right underneath his name. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” Kravitz frowned, which only proceeded to make Taako (?) snort. 

“Very much so, my dude. You demanding I vacate this public ass property that I totes have a license to work on just for the sake of your so-called ‘business’ is absolutely fucking hilarious to me.” 

“You’re disturbing the peace.” Kravitz’s frowned deepened, a nerve struck deep in his chest and, frustratingly, Taako seemed to tell. 

“And you’re disturbing my business. Come back when you actually got legal grounds to kick my ass out, but it better be you, don’t want any of your dusty old dudes getting anywhere near this esteemed place of culinary art.” He solidified the threat with a wink that sent a heated flush to Kravitz from head to toe, both from anger and something else entirely that he tried to ignore. 

“You - I asked you _ nicely _-” 

“And now I'm telling you to fuck off nicely.” He retorted, waving him off with an almost bored flick of his wrist. It was a simple move, but the pure arrogance of it, and the _smugness _behind his smile, kindled the useless frustration in his chest about how fucking ridiculous this whole situation was. Here he was, disturbing literally everybody in the street across the road, sitting all pretty in his stupid fucking taco truck without a care in the world and when somebody finally had the nerve to stand up to him, he brushed them off with a smile and a wink and a stupid, _fucking _flirt. 

And the worst part was that it was _working_. 

Kravitz was keenly aware of his red face and shaking hands - both for a multitude of reasons - of his furrowed brow that fed the smirk on Taakos face. He was desperate, at this point, to find a way out that wasn’t a defeat; that wouldn’t leave him with his tail between his legs and Taako laughing behind painted golden tin. Honor? Of that, he had none, but to be defeated here? That was another thing. 

In the courtroom, Kravitz was calm, and collected, and damned good at his job. He had built up defense after defense and saved hundreds of innocent men and women from prison. He had countless hours, hundreds of clients, and dozens of cases. Kravitz was fucking good at winning arguments, be it through a sly reveal, a tearful account or a heart-wrenching tale of woe – Kravitz always,_ always_, had a final trick up his sleeve. 

Usually, it would be a key witness or an unrevealed piece of evidence. 

Today, it was spotting a nicely carved wooden mug, filled to the brim with plastic utensils, and noticing it was very much within arm's reach. 

The look of utter disbelief and shock on Taakos face was barely captured as Kravitz snatched the mug from its place, pressing it tightly to his chest and spilling white plastic all over the concrete beneath him as he stumbled backward. He moved numb and panicked as he tripped over his own feet, fumbling into a clumsy run back to his office and away from the crime scene, forgetting his phone, his papers, his dignity. Taako, still shocked into place at the utter insanity of the act, only began to shout after him when he was already halfway across the road. 

“What the- what the fuck??” He heard from behind him, and narrowly missed getting hit by a car. “Give me back my fucking forks!” 

Kravitz did not, in fact, intend to give back his forks. 

Kravitz felt bad about stealing his forks. 

They sat in that nice wooden mug on his desk, glaringly out of place as a constant reminder of what he had done. Okay, sure, it was illegal. Technically. It wasn’t like this guy was going to sue him for stealing, what, maybe fifty cents worth of plastic? The mug was probably worth more than his entire supply of cutlery, given how well it was carved. It was as out of place on his desk as it was sitting in that truck. It was probably a backhanded gift. 

Oh, God, it was a _gift_, wasn’t it? 

Kravitz palmed his face and groaned, wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear, sliding down his chair as it was and near onto the black, plush carpet. Now at eye level the mug glared right back at him – and _stupid, stupid, stupid_, what had he been thinking? What had possessed him to literally _steal _from somebody? He was a lawyer, for God's sake! A literal upholder of the law! As near as you can get to a cop without having a gun! 

Well, girl scouts were pretty intense nowadays. 

It's not like he could just _return _the mug – well, yes, he supposed he could, he doubted Taako was going to call the cops on him, but at this point it was simply a matter of pride. He barely held his dignity together simply talking to the man; returning the mug, tail between his legs, and apology just sincere enough to be believable? Perish the thought. Kravitz would rather die. Worse than that, in his brief jaunt into crime he’d forgotten all of his documents and cell phone in his car, which was, of course, right in the vicinity and very obvious eye level of Taako . He absolutely couldn’t leave until he was closed – and what time _ did _ he close? Kravitz had never stayed in the office long enough to ever find out. So now not only was he being held hostage here by his music, but also by societal niceties, and the knowledge that he can never look that man in his _ (s__tarti__n__gly nice)_ eyes again without acknowledging that he hadn’t returned his stolen property. 

Though, of course, he supposed Taako actually didn’t need to be there for him to return it. And today was the first day he had actually opened up earlier than nine – surely it was just an oddity, and he could return the mug on the trucks doorstep tomorrow morning. Both sides won that way. 

Satisfied with his plan – if thick laced in its cowardice – Kravitz returned to the scarce paperwork he had stored in his office, setting a mental reminder to not forget the gift at home. Be it convenient or otherwise. 

That absolute bastard. 

That absolute _bastard _of a man. 

Who, after weeks of opening up no later than nine in the morning – ten, sometimes, it seemingly only on the whimsy of the enigma behind the counter – suddenly decides he’s going to be open from six am precisely every day for a goddamned week? 

It's like – it's like he was trying to piss him off! Like he somehow fucking _knew _what sort of thing would drive Kravitz straight up the wall and honed in on that nugget of information like a crazed, spite filled bird of prey. How did he know? Was it intuition? Tapped phone wires, straight-up magic? 

“You're doing that face again.” Brad jolted him out of his fuming and Kravitz started, pen skittering off the page in a dark line. The orc was leaned against the door frame with a smug grin and a cup of coffee. 

“What?” 

“That face.” Brad said. “The face you make whenever you’re thinking about that taco truck guy. It’s this really weird look that you only ever get while you stare at that mug.” 

“I- I am not - I am not thinking about him!” Kravitz spluttered, fixing his slumped posture and eyes darting frantically to his paperwork for an excuse to fake. “I’m thinking about his truck, and how stupid it is, and how I can get it out of the parking lot– see? Papers! Research! I'm doing work!” He waved a thick stack of files that were definitely not taco-truck related, only to raise Brad's eyebrows. “I am absolutely not thinking about him, or, if I am, I am most definitely thinking about how to remove every aspect of his existence from my life.” 

“Sure thing.” Brad slid the coffee cup across his desk and shrugged his shoulders, tucking hands into pockets as he closed the door behind him. “I’ll tell him who to come to when he files a theft claim, I guess.” 

As passive-aggressive as that was, Kravitz had no rebuttal, and could only push the wooden cup further behind his books with his fingertips. 

Because, really, Brad wasn’t wrong. Kravitz wasn’t thinking about Taako, or his stupid truck, or how he was supposed to give the cup back without him noticing – he was avidly trying not to think about any of those things, and in doing so, could not focus on thinking about anything else. Such was the nature of invasive thoughts and pretty boys. It was just so _stupid_, the way he agonized and squirmed around ways to return it without embarrassment or without confrontation – because while he can stare down mob members in court without flinching, apparently, he can't just walk up to someone and say sorry for doing them wrong. 

Not that Kravitz thought the Taako deserved an apology. A half-assed shrug, maybe. An awkward wince as he sucked air through his teeth and gave it back silently before driving away as fast as possible. 

But he had to return it eventually. It couldn’t just sit on his desk any longer, gathering non-existent dust – because Kravitz kept his office clean, thank you very much – and reminding him every day of his inaction. He’d never known an inanimate object to harbor spite, but if one could, this mug was definitely projecting something, and it made him itch all over and sit uneasily in his chair as the sun sank below the horizon of his office windows. Brad said goodbye, and Kravitz sat. The street lights turned on, and Kravitz sat. He also tried to work, but mostly sat, and listened to the same top ten pop songs blast over and over again. 

And then the music stopped. 

It was so sudden Kravitz actually thought for a second his hearing had just decided to quit then and there, but after a few test curses and the screech of his chair as he stood from his desk, he figured that was not the case. A few seconds passed by, and still, silence reigned – was it over? Was he free? Had the nightmare across the street finally ceased its torment for the evening? 

Packing up his things, frantic, now, and snatching the mug to sit under his arm as he locked up the office as quickly as he could, Kravitz didn’t dare look at the time to see just how late it was and how long he had waited there. Long enough that the moon was high in the sky, though tucked away behind clouds and bitter winds that stung at his eyes and made him tuck his dreads into the back of his shirt collar. The streets were empty and silent, and, mercilessly, the taco trucks serving window was closed and shut down. It was finally over. Their feud, less so, but at least after tonight they could be on even ground. 

There were still a few cars left in the lot and Kravitz wondered, briefly as he made his way over, which one had been Taakos. He recognized a few – Sloane's, who ran the flower shop at the end of the street but lived above her store, and Jenkins, who owned the pawnshop close by his firm, as well as his own. He was parked just opposite the truck, opposite what _should _be his parking space. The reminder grit his teeth and quickened his heeled pace across the concrete. As he approached, he could see now a small wooden staircase – also ornately carved, and Kravitz began to wonder if this was a theme – that lead up to a closed metal door covered in a bright neon “ _ Keep Out! Wizard at Work’ _ poster. It would do. Subtle enough that passersby would assume it simply forgotten, if they even noticed it; clear enough for Taako to understand. 

Fitting that his Trojan horse of good faith was carved of wood. 

He had to stoop down a slight to tuck it next to the stairs, not wanting the gift to be so obscenely obvious that it caught the eye of someone looking for a cheap cash grab. It was while he was stooping – or rather, while he was trying to fix the cup in a position where it wouldn’t be blown away in the wind – that he had the sudden confused thought of why there were actually still stairs here at all. Wouldn’t he have taken them inside the truck, or with him home? He would need them until the next morning, unless - 

_ Unless..._

The heat hit him first; a wave of golden, spiced light spilling out from the suddenly swung open door of the food truck, eager to highlight his misfortune and mix with the cooler night air. The realization that he’d been caught hit him second. That one hurt a lot more than the jalapenos, which were already beginning to make his eyes water. 

“You know, when I prayed for you to crawl back to me begging for forgiveness, I don’t expect it _ literally _.” 

The third knock to the chest felt physical, even if it was hidden in honey-drawled words and smothered in a smug, snickering tone. 

“Don’t worry though, handsome, I ain’t complaining.” Bathed in the backlight of his truck that filtered soft through his loose blonde hair and holding a boxed filled with (delicious smelling) paper packages, Taako looked ethereal; infuriating, with a winking sneer and a cocked hip underneath a half-tied apron, but still ethereal. A hard look to pull off while covered in sauces and food grime. Kravitz wondered why it was all he could focus on. “Not every day I get a man on his knees offering me wood.” 

So crude, so terrible, so fucking _awful _was the joke that it shocked Kravitz out of his temporary stupor, to his feet spluttering and red in the face. “Excuse - excuse me? I am not - I am not begging for anything!” He straightened his already straight tie, ignored the raised eyebrow and barely audible snort. “ I ' m just returning your mug. I wasn’t expecting you to still _be _here.” 

“Oh, my mug? My mug that you stole? That mug? The stolen one?” Taako countered, seemingly content to stand there and shame. “I have a deep emotional connection to that mug, you know. I should take your ass to court for emotional damage.” 

“Oh, I'm _ sure _ .” Kravitz stepped to the side in an obvious attempt to let him down and end the conversation, it already going for seconds longer than he ever intended. “Please, tell me more about the nights you’ve spent sleepless through your tears over losing such a _ valued _item.” 

“Too many to even count, bones. I'm an emotional wreck. A hot mess. And yet,” Takao patted his chest as he hopped down the stairs, kicking the door shut behind him and digging around his back pocket for a jangling pair of keys, “I still have the common decency to accept your gracious apology.” 

An apology that didn’t exist, yet – an apology that Kravitz hadn’t planned on allowing to be said. He didn’t want to apologize because despite knowing that yes, okay, maybe he did do a bad thing, maybe he was slightly in the wrong here, it still felt wrong to apologize to a man who oh so smugly knew he deserved it. And Taako fucking knew. Of course, he did. Taako was standing in front of him with his stupid pretty face and his stupid leftovers tucked under one arm and his stupid half-smile that was crooked in all the right ways to push Kravitz’s buttons – and Taako expected an _apology_.

Kravitz wished he had thrown that cup out. 

Sneakers tapped the concrete impatiently, and the chef raised his brows. “Don't make me wait all night, Kemosabe. I actually do have a life to get to outside of that tin can, and I'd rather not hang out with my own personal Jean Valjean if I can help it.” 

“Was that – was that a _Les Mis _reference?” Kravitz dodged the apology again, hands on his hips to match Taako's cocky attitude and in an attempt to be intimidating. It probably wasn’t working. 

“Yeah, what? I got layers. Cha’boys multidimensional. Like that’s a surprise.” He tried to ignore the growing smirk, failed, pathetically. “Not that you would know, considering you’ve been in hiding ever since the very petty theft you so valiantly refuse to apologize for.” 

“Petty? Absolutely.” Kravitz shrugged. “Theft? A strong claim for someone who's stolen my parking spot multiple times.” 

Even that one sounded stupid to him and he regretted it as soon as he said it, inwardly wincing, while Taako snorted out a laugh and shifted the weight of the box on his hip. “Fantasy Jesus Christ, my dude, that’s _really _your go-to? I stole your fucking parking space? Oh, _boo _fucking _hoo__, _ you can't park by the pavement anymore and get your perfect thousand steps a day. My _deepest _apologies.” As Kravitz spluttered a response he dug around in his package, shifting through rustled paper. 

“It's not – it's about the principle of the damn thing, you know -” 

“Sure, sure, principles, schminceaples, whatever, let the thief preach to me about lawful behavior.” Before he could even retort Taako shoved a brown package into his chest, sidling by him with a lazy wave and a sly look. “Keep the apology then, if you're gonna be so fuckin uptight about it. I'm digging the whole ‘arch-nemesis’ thing we got going on here anyway. Spices up the afternoons. Real quality tv.” 

“Arch-ex-excuse me?” He gripped the package with white-knuckled intensity and watched him saunter off cackling, grin bright even in the distance while his own feet remained stuck to the concrete as if his shoes were sunk in lead. “We are not – what?” 

He didn’t know why he expected an answer; and not to be left alone, standing in an empty public parking lot beside a quiet taco truck and holding a paper bag of something warm, delicious, and ripe with budding rivalry. 

How had he made this _worse _? 


	2. Chapter 2

Kravitz was at war. 

“That’s a little dramatic,” Brad said, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth as he leaned against the doorframe. “It's not like the guys actively trying to hurt you. You’re just easy to get a rise out of.” 

Kravitz had a _ problem _. 

It had been two whole months since the trojan horse confrontation and things between him and Taako had only escalated. Gone were the days of avoided conversations, silent brooding and spiteful stares; now that Taako had the upper hand in their rivalry, he was making full and generous use of each and every single way he could find to annoy Kravitz. Packages of freshly made taquitos or Buñuelos would be sitting on the hood of his car every evening. The truck switched places every other day, guaranteeing him a minefield of oil spills and littered trash to navigate the next morning, and stayed open well past his office hours. He was even _pretty fucking sure_ the new addition to the menu, Bone bons , were added _ specifically _to make fun of him. 

So what if he liked macabre jewelry? It was casual Friday. Did he deserve a dish designed around it and made to sell purely for spite? 

The worst part was there was practically nothing he could do about it, either. Every day went the same now; he would park, try to avoid the truck – and fail, miserably, always earning himself a smug wave from Taako and sometimes a shouted hello – before going to his office and working hours upon hours to the soundtrack of Lady Gaga. That was a recent favorite. Then at ten he would pack up and head out to inevitably, and it was always inevitably, end up in some sort of argument that would last far longer than he would like and always in a way he hated. 

“You catch the latest season of ‘How to get away with murder yet’?” Taako asked one night, wiping down his bench on a surprisingly quiet night. 

“I don’t watch that.” He absolutely did, not that he was going to let Taako have the smug satisfaction of knowing. The chef hummed in acknowledgement, rested his chin on folded knuckles and arched a brow. 

“You should give it a shot. Its all about getting away with crime, so maybe you could pick up a few tricks for the next time you decide to rob me.” 

_God fucking damnit_. “It was one time!” He protested, not for the first time, and not for the last, only to make Taako snort. 

“Only takes one murder to make someone a murderer, boo, but you keep thinking you're free from being called a criminal – hey there buckaroos, what you after?” 

Another started off with a whistle and a frantic wave, and for a while, Kravitz debated on whether or not to just ignore him and keep walking or give in to the heckling and find out what slice of insulted remarks he would deal with tonight. Eventually – as it always did, who was he kidding – curiosity and the regularity of habit kicked in, and he wandered on over with a sigh. 

“Here,” Taako said, not even giving him a chance to say hello, and shoved a plate right up to his face. “Try this.” 

“What is...what is this?” He wrinkled his nose but took the plate anyway, poking at what seemed to be sloppily made churros. “Are you attempting to poison me?” 

“Ha-ha. Funny man. You’re not getting off that easy – eat.” He gestured with a slight frown and an impatient tapping of fingers on metal, and Kravitz hesitantly picked one up and took a bite. 

Kravitz had done a lot of stupid things in his life, and had also done a lot of things he regretted. Most of them, helpfully, came hand in hand. He was in his late twenties - regrets and bad choices were not only expected, but encouraged. They help with character growth, most people will tell you; you have to make a thousand mistakes before you can improve, and with mistakes comes the chance to learn something new. 

Kravitz learned to never trust Taako ever again. 

“Oh fucking – what the hell was that?” He coughed violently onto the pavement and tried to spit out as much of that horrid concoction that he could, Taako cackling in the background as he dry-heaved. “Was there – was that _ meat _??” 

“Holy fucking shit,” Taako answered with a wheeze, bent over the countertop and absolutely shaking with laughter. “You got the joke one first?? I didn’t - okay, okay, listen I didn’t - just try the other ones, please, I promise these are actually good-” 

“No!” 

“Please!” He wrung his hands in overdramatic fashion and even fluttered his eyelashes, something Kravitz found both incredibly distracting and awfully infuriating. “Chefs honor those ones are fine – look, see?” And before Kravitz could stop him he had snatched one of the remainders from his plate, biting it in half before tossing it back to him. “Fine! It's fine!” 

It had turned out to be fine. Better than fine, if anything, because the apple-pie filled churros became an instant hit the second he gave Taako the approval he seemingly craved so bad. Of course, that just made the problem of Taakos successful business even worse, but... 

So, really, a sort-of-win/lose situation. 

So, really, not fine at all, actually. 

And so it continued; fueled by Taakos incessant need to pawn off leftovers, wild creations or rejects to him and Kravitz’s insatiable need to one-up him in at least conversion it left them with a back and forth banter that began to even rival some arguments he’d shared in the courtroom. Taako, for all of his lack of sincerity and lazed passion for conflict, possessed a wicked tongue and sharp wit that Kravitz – against all things, against everything, and rather uncomfortably – began to enjoy. 

God, it was starting to be fun. 

It was _terrible_. 

Worse than that, he was two months further with no further progression on how to solve the taco truck problem. If anything he'd just made things worse for himself by building up this rapport with the chef; how was he supposed to complain about his antics now when Brad, the only person who could ever understand his debacle, knew how much Taako was beginning to grow on him? 

Not that he ever outwardly said ‘i told you so’, of course, Brad was far too polite to ever say such a thing, but he didn’t have to. He said it with the half-smiles at each brown package on his desk and half-eaten plates offered out of shame. Bastard. 

Stupidly polite and honestly good-hearted bastard. 

He no longer had a game plan. He never had one to begin with, if he was honest - but at least he had an inkling of an idea where to go from, what he wanted to do, and now all he had was a friendly-ish feud with the man of his nightmares and a consistent stream of tex-mex food products. 

“Not the worst kind of problem to have in the world,” Brad said, and ducked out of the room just in time to avoid being hit with a crumpled-up napkin. 

That evening when he'd gone out to his car after closing up the office the truck had been too busy to cater to their usual evening spats – normal for a Saturday, with mostly a crowd of drunken teenagers craving cheap and spicy food to sober up – but Taako had still spotted him over the crowd, and in between orders tossed him a smile and a gloved wave. Instinctively and before he could catch himself, he waved back, sharing the soft grin, before the moment between them was gone and he tucked his hands back into his jacket pocket to headed home. 

It occurred to him, later that evening halfway through a microwaved burrito and an episode of Great British Bake Off, that maybe having a bitter rivalry wouldn’t be too bad after all. 

Then another food truck opened right in his other parking space, and Kravitz was convinced the universe hated him. 

“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.” A muttered mantra as he dragged his forehead up from where it had thudded onto his steering wheel, pulling into yet another different parking space far away from the two trucks as possible, trying to avoid hitting any of the early risers who were crunching on God-knows-what. Was it a franchise? A friend of Taakos, or a competitor? Someone who simply saw Sizzle It Up and figured the entire parking lot was just fair game? God, would it be another fucking tex-mex place? 

God, please don’t let it be another tex-mex place. Taakos was just beginning to be tolerable at best, avoidable at worst; he didn’t know what he would do if he had to dodge two trucks every evening. At this point, moving was becoming the easiest option. 

Kravitz was debating how to tell Brad he was moving the business for a totally-not-taco-truck related reason when he passed between the two and was interrupted with a hushed scream-whisper of his name, mostly noticed because it happened at the same time that the whisperer grabbed his coat and dragged him off to the side. With a grunt, he collided with the shiny metal of Taakos food truck. Of course. 

“Krav, can you fucking believe this?” The chef was leant over the countertop with a look of disbelief and building fury, still clutching at the collar of his jacket with a tight fist. “Can you believe the gall of that mother fucker?” 

“Someone setting up in an area you don’t want? Awful.” He deadpanned. “I can't imagine what you're going through.” 

“Okay, first of all, you love me and you know it, second,” Taako slapped his shoulder half-heartedly but kept his gaze glued to the other truck, “there's a difference between me and him, and that difference is that my food is good and I'm not a raging calcified asshole.” 

“Have you even tried his food yet?” Kravitz rubbed the spot where he hit him, trying to read the sign from across the lot. It was the same size as Taakos, but in a dirty silver colour, with black trimming and shining silver hub plates. Expensive looking. Ominous looking.“How do you know its bad?” 

His answer was interrupted as a half-elf man leaned out from over the counter of the other truck, waving at the two of them with a dirty spatula and a grease-smudged smile. “Morning, Taako! Try not to play favorites with customers, huh?” 

“Get fucked, Sazed!” Was Taakos only response, and the man disappeared again. Kravitz raised his eyebrows in question. 

“So you know him? He seems nice enough.” 

The chef scoffed and folded his arms across his chest like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. “That's just what he _wants_ you to think. You didn’t have to suffer through culinary school with him and watch him cheat off all of your tests.” 

“Can you even cheat on a test in culinary school?” He frowned. “How does that even work? How do you cheat off of somebody's beef consommé?” 

Taako looked at him with an unimpressed look, concealing badly hidden amusement, and deftly tucked a still-warm package of sweet-smelling pastry into his hands. “If you’re not going to help me burn his place to the ground or at least sit there and look pretty while I can complain, shove off.” 

“You don’t pay me enough to listen to you complain, Taako.” Kravitz grinned as he walked backwards towards his office. “And I don’t think arson would be a good look in my permanent record.” 

“I don’t pay you at all, dumbass!” He called back, tinted with barely hidden laughter, and Kravitz only just avoided getting hit by a car because he didn’t want to turn away. 

Brad was already waiting at his desk when he arrived and stood the second he saw him, frantically shoving down what he had on a paper plate. “Did - did you see?” He muttered through a mouthful. “There's a new truck!” 

“Are you eating kebabs for _breakfast_?” Kravitz pulled off his jacket and barely hid his concern for the mans digestive tract, Brad looking down at his half-empty plate in shame before shrugging. 

“They're better than your boyfriends.” 

The coat missed the hook as he choked on air and stumbled into the rack, whipping around to face the half-orc. “He's not – you know that’s not whats going on here – he doesn’t even make kebabs!” 

He didn’t back down. “How would you know that? Seen his menu lately?” 

“I-” There was no justifiable response. He had seen his menu lately. Lately as in this morning. And yesterday. And the day before that. 

Also, he was holding a bag with the logo_ Sizzle It Up _ _ With Taako _ emblazoned across it – but Brad was kind enough to void that from potential ammunition. 

“I have work to get started on,” he said instead, ducking into his office with the speed of a man caught red-handed for a crime he wasn’t quite sure if he regretted. 

Not a complete lie, but less than a half-truth. Kravitz found himself dealing with a lot of those recently – mostly given to himself or the tired and something-weary version of himself he saw every evening in the mirror. He wasn’t sure what he was weary of quite yet. Only that it got worse with every evening conversation with Taako, and sat heavy and warm in his chest ignored until the next morning. 

Maybe he had indigestion. 

And so, the truck remained; Kravitz couldn’t tell who the crowds were gravitating to but Taako wore a sour look every morning he said hello, barely dimmed by their chats if softened at the edges after he bode him goodbye. Kravitz doesn’t know how he notices that, or why its important that it happens. Only that he leaves with a small sense of satisfaction every time he wears away at the edges of his pout. 

If there was any small victory here it was that Sazed’s truck didn’t seem to favor blasting music from his speakers high enough to burst eardrums, so Kravitz was safe from his already existing issue made worse. The issue was still there and as intolerable as ever, of course – but he was still working on a plan to get that fixed, and was grateful that his work hadn’t increased twofold. 

His current plan was a choice between ‘bribe Taako to stop blasting his speakers’ and ‘steal his speakers but this time get Brad to do it so Taako won't know it's him and then make sure he doesn’t file a police report because he likes Brad and doesn’t want him to go to jail’. 

So, going fairly well. 

Two weeks passed, and nothing seemed to change, if but for Taakos general mood and Brad's choice of lunch. Taako, much like the food poisoning his co-worker got from a pair of bad quesadillas, got worse until he was barely even tolerable to be around. Not that Kravitz blamed either of them for those situations; it seemed Sazed was gaining in popularity between the two, and Brad just really, really liked quesadillas. 

“Why don’t you just ask him to move?” He asked once, leant against the metal counter of Taakos truck during a brief respite in the crowds. “There's plenty of spaces around town I'm sure he could go to.” 

“I'd rather die than throw myself and my business into the vulnerability of his hands, Krav, and I'm rather offended you even suggested the idea.” Taako folded napkins into random designs with long, lithe fingers and experienced precision, tucking it away into a pile. “Its about the _principle_. The fact that he had the _balls_ to set up here in the first place.” 

“Principles, schminceaples,” He grinned, and stole a fry from their shared basket. Eating a delayed lunch together had become a force of habit, lately. It wasn’t a date. “I think you just don’t like that he's got more customers than you.” 

“Of course I fucking hate that!’ Taako tossed his hands into the air in exasperation. “Am I supposed to be all goody two shoes and amicable and make him a fucking number one food truck owner celebratory cup? That fucker's ruining my business and the worst part is that he doesn’t even _deserve_ to do it!” 

As time wore on it seemed that the food truck feud was only going to end one of two ways; either with Sazed driving Taako out of business, or with Sazeds business mysteriously disappearing. With all of the seemingly empty threats he made, Kravitz wasn’t quite sure yet which way it would go – only that he hoped to no end he wouldn’t be hired for any following lawsuits. As much as he would love to see Taako gone, he would rather see him in a truck than in the courtroom. 

Kravitz tried to ignore the fact that he much rather preferred one of the ways this whole fiasco was going to end, and it wasn’t the one he’d originally committed a crime for. Focusing on why he didn’t want Taako gone was a can of snakes he didn’t want to open just yet. 

It was storming that Friday. It had come out of nowhere bringing with it sharp winds and bitter rain that tore at the trees and slammed his windows, and as he struggled to get from his car to his office without drowning he passed by two silent and empty food trucks. Understandable, as nobody sane would ever be out in this weather – but he couldn’t help the slight twinge in disappointment at the darkness in Taakos windows. Brad had the day off, so it’d make for a lonely day without him, too. Also, no free lunch. 

He was going with 'missing out on a free lunch' as the reason for why his mood remained sour the rest of the afternoon, and not the fact he was missing out on the person who gave it away. 

Evening came and the storm, impossibly, grew worse; the sky was dark by five and he was beginning to regret coming into work at all. What was the point when he had no appointments, no staff and no - 

He could have worked from home, is what he was saying. Rather than waste time fiddling with paperwork he didn’t want to do and waiting for a break in the torrent outside to make a sprint to his car. From outside he could see a few brave souls in nothing but silhouettes daring the streets, being tossed around the sidewalk like ragdolls. Lightning cracked and thunder rumbled, and in between the seconds where he had looked to check a box and then back to the street, someone was standing in front of his door and frantically trying to pull it open. 

Oh god please no, it's raining so hard, it's going to ruin his carpet - 

The door, already being battered by the hurricane-strong winds, was slammed open with the fury of nature-backed rage, glass threatening to shatter and rain pouring onto the carpet to soak it within seconds. _Damnit_. It was closed again through the effort of the figure who was unrecognizable beneath their brilliant red raincoat and drawn up hoodie, it standing tall, pointed and shrouded around the face and shining in the lights of Kravitz’s office. Wizard-esque, he would have described it. It was almost like he wore a one-piece cloak. 

“Alright fucker, do I have the proposition of a lifetime for you-” 

His hair was plastered against his skin, and he was positively dripping in both malice and rainwater, but even so he was utterly, infuriatingly, astoundingly recognizable; Taako, the man who was his self-proclaimed ‘arch-nemesis’, slammed a hand onto his desk and stared at him with a look that was a mixture of horror, frustration, and a little bit of disbelief. His words had seemingly died in his throat. 

Kravitz raised an eyebrow, and gently pulled his slowly-dampening papers from beneath Taakos palm. 

“You’re a fucking _lawyer_?” He spluttered, wide-eyed and staring, and Kravitz straightened the probably ruined trial extension. 

“You literally saw me sprint into this building the first day I met you.” He replied. “There are only four buildings on this entire street that aren't restaurants or chain supermarkets.” 

“Well - I mean, yeah, but I didn’t think you were a lawyer – you literally _stole_ from me!” He was getting more and more flustered, his hand movements more and more animated, and Kravitz stifled a smile. “That's like, the opposite of what your job is meant to do!” 

“And what did you think my job actually was?” 

“God I don’t - the funeral parlor or some shit, I dunno! I never really thought about it!” Kravitz was immensely glad he was alone in this office, because surely by now Taakos shouting would have gotten the attention of everyone in the building. He couldn’t understand what the guy was so flustered about. “You really think that the first thing I'm tryina figure out about some fucking crazy hot guy who steals my shit and becomes my bitter rival is gonna be where he works? Nuh uh, stud! That was not on my fuckin list of priorities!” 

“I'm sorry – you thought I worked at the funeral parlor?” Kravitz asked in disbelief, choosing to ignore certain descriptive terms. Taako shrugged, still equally tense. 

“I mean, it would fit the goth vibe you got going on. Y'know. All black and doom and gloom – not that I'm knocking it, or anything, just figured you'd dress to fit the part.” 

“Goth - it’s a _ suit _ !” It was Kravitz’s turn to fluster, gesturing down at himself. “How is a black suit _ gothic _?” 

“You wore skull and crossbones earrings last week!” 

“It was _ casual _ _ Friday _ _ !” _

“And you went with _ death _as a stylistic choice?” 

“I-” Kravitz cut himself off, palming his face and sighing deeply to avoid any further pointless arguments. “Why are you here, Taako? What did you do?” 

“Do?” Taako cocked his hips and rested his fists against them, mock offended frown carved beneath wet hair. “Why are you assuming that I'm the one who's done something?” 

"I know, for a fact, you’ve threatened Sazed with arson at least three times in the past week. You’re also literally standing in my office, a law office, a place where people who need help with the law, go to.” 

“Those were all empty threats and you know it. As if I have the time to bother with crime in _this_ economy.” He seemingly got bored standing and dragged over one of the chairs, plopping himself down with his legs slung over the arm of the chair in what was surely a very uncomfortable position. “And I'm not gonna lie, your joint is just the closest place available that works with legal shit. It's not like I'm going for top-notch quality lawyer-ing here.” 

“I'm flattered.” Kravitz deadpanned, and Taako barked out a short laugh. 

“Duh. Getting paid for the easiest shit in the world and spending quality time with _ Moi _ _ ? _ this is practically a Godsend, baby.” 

_ ‘Baby _ .’ The badly-faked french accent. The sheer _ disrespect _ to legal practices. Gods in heaven, Taako was a _ nightmare _. 

One he infuriatingly enjoyed the company of, albeit. But a fucking nightmare. 

“And what is ‘this’, exactly? Forgot to put ranch on a politician's hotdog? Suing the city against their health and safety regulations?” Kravitz rested his chin on his hand that he propped against his desk, feigning disinterest with raised brows and a lidded gaze. “Please don’t tell me you want my help in something that will involve fists or forks.” 

“Oh, I would never involve such a high-class, sought after lawyer like _ you _in any petty misdemeanors like that, pretty boy. I can take care of myself most of the time, thank you very much.” Taako was unperturbed by Kravitz’s apparent lack of interest and lounged further in his chair, sly smile soft and smug. "I'm tired of Sazeds gig and I want you to fuck it up for me. i figured it out. Don’t even need any papers or anything – just gotta stand there and word vomit some lawyer legal bullshit at him ‘till he gets scared and fucks off.” 

That was - 

Hm. 

“You want me to _ what now?” _ Kravitz spluttered after a few seconds of stunned disbelief, Taakos grin etching wider at his fluster. 

“Fear tactics. I just want you to scare the guy off my property – he's taking all of my goddamn sales and his shit isn't even that good.” He leaned forward, serious now, feet firmly on the ground. “Kravitz, I went to fuckin’ culinary school with this guy and it’s a damned near miracle that he ever graduated, but now he’s got the fuckin’ nerve to pull up on my turf and act like he's a culinary equal? Guy can barely tell a sweet potato from a yam! I'm sick of it!” 

Kravitz blinked. Took a pause. “To be honest Taako, I probably wouldn’t be able to either.” 

In what could only be described as a crumple of devastation, Taako groaned, flopping his head into his hands and kicking his feet in an impatient tick. “Gods, I can't do this. I can't do this anymore Kravitz, please. Please just help me and never talk about food or related topics ever again.” 

It was certainly an interesting – well, interesting was certainly a word for it – proposal, though with Taako, really, should he have expected anything less than patchwork and sewn-together chaos? More winking, maybe, more smooth wits and oozed confidence. It must be _really _serious. 

An interesting proposal became an interesting opportunity, and Kravitz was never one to turn down a potential goldmine. 

“What's in it for me?” He leaned forward to rest his chin on hands folded together, smug smile meeting Taakos halfway as the chefs faltered. “You describe this as the bargain of a lifetime, but haven't exactly offered me any form of a payout.” 

“I mean I _could _pay you.” He shrugged in return, lazily scratching his nose as if without a care in the world. “In fucking delicious food payments. I’ll make it worth your while, homie, don’t you even worry about that shit.” 

“You do that already, in case you’ve forgotten. But I have a reasonable price in mind.” Kravitz retorted, and the tenseness in Taakos shoulders was immediate. He relaxed after a second, but he couldn’t hide what had happened. 

“Oh yeah?” Taako said, examining his nails. “And what, exactly, do you have in mind?” 

It wouldn’t be too hard to ask him to leave. He could tell him of the parking lot three blocks down, near the park and the school grounds, a goldmine if he could just get a permit – and Kravitz could figure out something. It wasn’t his area, but he could figure out something. Taako wasn’t looking to get his place back; he was looking for _revenge_, and it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to kick Sazed out and convince him to move at the same time. 

It was his golden opportunity. He’d probably never get the chance to get his old life back ever again, if he missed it now. 

“I want you to stop switching parking spots every day,” he said, “and turn down your music so I can't hear it from my office.” 

Somewhere, over the past few months of torment, free food, and endless radio 190FM, his priorities had changed. Kravitz wasn’t quite sure when, or why, and really, didn’t want to know – but the little smile Taako gave him was reason enough to believe he was making the right choice. 

“That's it?” He asked. “You’re telling me you don’t want the honeyed notes of Shakira blessing your workplace every day?” 

“My hips, in fact, don’t lie when I tell you I absolutely want her gone.” 

Taako laughed bright and loud and clear and piercing, and he thrust out a sopping hand across his desk. “Then you have a deal, my dude.” 

Kravitz shook it. 

It was two days before he saw Taako again.

“Knock knock, lawyer boy, food delivery.” 

The door was carelessly kicked open and Kravitz winced as it hit the wall with a solid-sounding thunk, revealing Taako – in all of his dirty apron, loose hairnet and sweat-soaked shirted beautiful glory – holding tightly to a mixture of brown and white packages and a wide grin. “Lunch and revenge time. Fuck up Sazed o’clock. Munch and crunch? I'm spitballing here,” he dumped his haul of suspiciously delicious smelling containers on his desk, not caring for the papers Kravitz hastily tucked away out of the oil-spill risk zone, “but you get the picture. Feel free to contribute anytime.” 

“Takeout and Take-down?” He offered hesitantly, still flustered at Taako's sudden appearance, who cackled before flopping onto the chair in front of him. 

“Oh fuck yeah, that’s good. No wonder they gave you that fancy degree.” 

“Yes.” He deadpanned. “_Not _for the multiple years of law school.” 

Taako rustled through the packages, unclipping lids and producing forks and spoons. “Duh. College scmolledge, it's all the same, don’t teach you the important shit like – God, look at this.” Spearing a small ball of deep-fried mystery smothered in a red dip, he held it up with a disgusted curl of his lip and shuddered. “Look at this fucking - that’s not sauce, that’s practically water. Look at it! Terrible!” 

It looked pretty normal to him. 

“It looks pretty normal to me,” Kravitz shrugged, taking the fork from his hand and ignoring the choked noise Taako made before taking a bite. “It tastes fine.” 

A hand gently pushed his own down and away from his face, away from the container that Taako was slowly beginning to slide off the desk and towards the trash can. “Who_ hurt _you, Kravitz?” 

If Taako had been trying to kill him by getting him to choke through a laugh on delivered shitty food goods, he was certainly doing a good job of it. 

“Nobody hurt me, Taako,” he managed after getting himself to breathe again, the chef looking unconcerned with his struggle if mildly amused. “I’m just not a good cook. I probably couldn’t even taste the difference between cilantro and mint.” 

“You’re going to kill me.” He tightened his grip on Kravitz’s hand, who chose to ignore it, but mostly just succeeded in pretending like he was when really it was all he could think about. “I refuse to believe you’re real. Bones, you’re literally going to kill me.” 

“And whatever would I do without you, Taako?” he grinned back. “Maybe get a few hours of work done in peace? Not be forced to listen to Pitbull every waking hour of my day?” 

The warmth that left his hand when Taako tore out of his grip in mock horror was startingly noticeable, and he found himself thinking about the roughness of his palms. “Don’t you lie to my face and tell me Fireball isn't a timeless fuckin classic, Krav. Lest you render my soul to pieces from your complete inability to function as a normal, sane person.” 

“I can like a song without playing it twenty times on repeat, Taako. That’s what normal people tend to do.” 

“Well normal people are fucking boring because Fireball is a timeless classic.” 

“Mm.” He hummed in assent and stole another bite from the seemingly badly sauced fast food, Taako rolling his eyes and letting out a disgusted noise but letting it pass. “Did you come over just to feed me cheap food or was there something else?” 

“I can't just enjoy your company without an underlying ulterior motive for revenge and superiority?” He retorted, opening another container of food that Kravitz assumed he had deemed edible. “Oh, how you wound me. And here I thought we were becoming friends.” 

Friends felt like an empty word. “Friends don’t convince each other to commit fraud.” 

“_Your_ friends sound boring.” 

Kravitz thought of Barry, a self-described walking bowl of oatmeal, and decided to let that one slide. 

“But anyway, yeah okay, you got me,” Taako speared a fry with his plastic fork and waved it about as he talked. “I thought we could talk game plans. Figure out how we’re gonna kick Sazeds ass.” 

The food was beginning to become sickly and overpowering and he pushed it to the side, Taako watching with a look that silently screamed ‘i told you so’. “We’re not kicking anybody's ass, Taako. Just...kicking them out.” 

“Via his ass.” 

“I- sure.” He sighed, and Taako bore a triumphant grin. “Via his metaphorical ass.” 

“Hell yeah, the Takeout and Takeout team are a go! Oh, speaking of teams - “ He leant back in his chair and pulled up his feet to rest them on the corner of Kravitz’s desk, ignoring his dirty look. “I asked my cop friend if she could maybe show up when we actually confront him, intimidate him a little or something. Y'know. Make it look more official.” 

With the clean side of his knife Kravitz gently pushed Taakos' shoes off of his desk. “Because _that_ certainly sounds legal.” 

“It's fine, don’t worry about it.” He shifted in his position and pulled up his shoes onto the bookshelf at his side, instead, and continued to ignore his silent glares. “She's not actually gonna do or say anything. Just like, hang around. Look scary. Her girlfriends goth like you, you’d get along well.” 

Something about that clicked familiar, and he chose to ignore the blatant disrespect of novellas and carved IKEA pinewood for now. “Wait, detective Hurley?” 

“You _know_ her?” 

“Of course I know her, she’s been involved in a number of my cases. Me and Sloane go to the same bars some – wait,” he frowned, “how do _you_ know her?” 

Taako shrugged. “Street racing. I _knew_ you’d get along with Sloane. Goth’s clump together.” 

“Hurley arrested you for street racing?” Kravitz spluttered in disbelief, not surprised but at the same time trying not to reel from this sudden realization. “Wait, you’ve been _street racing_?” 

“Arrested? Me? Oh, ye of little faith, Kravitz,” he snickered, “Hurley was the one behind the wheel.” 

There was a long period of silence between the both of them, in which Taako wolfed down fries and Kravitz tried to not have a meltdown. 

This kind of situation was becoming frighteningly common for him.

“Street racing.” He said, fingertips pressed to his temples. 

“Yuh.” Taako mumbled through his mouthful, oblivious to his struggle. Crumbs flew everywhere. 

“Hurley does_ street racing.” _

“Her _and_ Sloane. I just subbed in for her once with some others when Sloane got sick.” He finally seemed to notice Kravitz holding his head in his hands and paused. “Wait, you seriously didn’t know?” 

“Of course I didn’t know!” He exclaimed, standing and pacing behind his desk. “She - I never imagined Hurley to – Sloane maybe, but she never mentioned –” 

“Am I interrupting something?” Kravitz had missed the quiet knock on his door and Brad poked his head into the office, unphased at his varying state of confusion and holding a stack of paperwork. “I got that file you wanted, but please don’t let me interrupt your session here. You seem to be going through a lot.” 

“Tell me about it,” Taako muttered, rolling his eyes. “Hey, Brad.” 

“Hey, Taako.” He stepped into the room, ignoring Kravitz frozen in place staring at the two of them and dropping the file on his desk in between styrofoam plates and paper baggies. “Hows Garyl doing?” 

“Oh, the usual. Being a little shit and knocking all my cups over.” If Taako was drinking coffee, he would have taken a sip, the conversation being so light and watercooler it felt jarringly out of place. Kravitz wanted to scream. “Good progress on the ponytail. See you around?” 

“So long as you keep serving those little fried ball things.” 

Taako replied with a click and a finger gun as Brad closed the door behind him, and Kravitz sat down with a heavy thud. “How - you know Brad as well?” 

“Of course.” He looked at him with amused confusion. “He's a regular at my place.” 

“Oh.” Okay. That made sense. 

“We were also paired up in the same team-building exercises once when corporate decided we needed the hours.” 

He let his head fall to his desk with a groan, and threw up his hands. “You’ve ruined my social life in two days. I can’t believe I'm still helping you.” 

“Aw Krav, you say the sweetest things to me.” He felt a hand pat his head gently and heard Taako stand from his chair, looking up to see he’d folded his arms and tucked the trash beneath an elbow. “I need to get going – duty calls, though, and all that. Another time?” 

Kravitz looked at the slowly growing piles of paperwork on his desk and around his room with a frown, the idea already leaving his lips before it even had a chance to process through his head first. “I’m a little backlogged in work right now. Why don’t you come over tonight and we can talk about it outside of office hours?” 

He didn’t know what he was thinking. What was he doing, inviting Taako so casually over like this? Why was he doing this? He wasn’t even that backlogged, he could have just worked nights and maybe pulled a few hours overtime, he didn’t need to make some ridiculous offer like - 

“Keeping the illegal stuff out of the legal offices, I get it. Shady. What time?” Taako agreed without missing a beat, and Kravitz took a second to process the fact that he’d just said yes so quickly and easily; like him inviting Taako over was simply a logical next step, like nothing about this situation screamed boundary-pushing, as if he was_ expecting it. _

“Uh,” Kravitz said, and fumbled with his papers as he scrambled to write down his address. “Nine?” 

“Yeah that’s cool – oh, you live near my neighborhood. Sweet.” Taako swept the torn-off paper up and slipped it into his pocket, Kobe’ing the scrunched up trash into the bin as he meandered out the door with a wink and a repeated finger gun. “Its a date!” 

He was already out the door by the time Kravitz spluttered to his defense, face red hot and mind whirring from the utter chaos of his lunch break. “It's not - I didn’t intend for it to be -!” 

Taako didn’t hear him; or, Taako didn’t care. Possibly both. Regardless, he was left sitting in his office, quietly contemplating, quietly shrinking. 

Kravitz wondered if this might be a bad idea. 

It was a _fantastic_ idea. 

Taako had shown up at nine-fifteen, more or less as promised, toting a bottle of wine and a rosewood red shirt that draped over his arms in an elegant fashion. “It's my crime shirt,” he said with a wink as Kravitz closed the door behind him, “because its red and makes me look like a suspicious widow.” 

Kravitz had also purchased wine for the evening. Neither of them seemed to mind, and both bottles were opened before the clock inched past half nine. 

They’d sat on the couch glasses in hand both full, always full, awkward at first as Kravitz tiptoed past social niceties and pleasantries before the wine loosened his tie and relaxed his shoulders. Taako was fluid as always; but as the evening moved on he seemed to inch closer and brush hands all that more often until the two were practically pressed right against each other. Not that Kravitz was complaining. 

He didn’t complain when the conversation had moved from their work to personal topics, either, how banter came so natural to them and how they were tripping over themselves to finish each other's sentences. He didn’t complain when Taako loosened his braid, or when they swapped glasses ‘for funsies’, or how neither of them commented on the time and how dark the room had grown with nothing but a couch lamp to light them. 

The evening was soft. Kravitz’s wondered if Taakos hair felt softer. 

“No but the – but the trick is, right, the trick is you gotta keep that heat looooooooooooooow. Everyon’ thinks that cookin fast is cookin better but no, my man, that’s just how you burn shit.” Taako had moved his slump against Kravitz’s side to his lap, head nestled neatly between his legs and wine glass waving around precariously as he talked. “You keep it low, you get that like...medium. Cookin. Even cookin. That good good shit, baby.” 

Kravitz hummed in response, own glass half full and bottle much much less, one elbow to the couch arm and the other resting a hand on Taakos chest. He wasn’t quite sure when they got quite into this position, but he didn’t care. At this point his brain was too warm and fuzzy and preoccupied with how soft he imagined Taakos hair to be to care. 

“I gotta cook for you sometime, yknow.” Said elf slurred up from his lap, hand free and flailing until it reached Kravitzs cheek to pet it. “You only ever eat my fast food shit and none of my good stuff. You gotta – you gotta have the full Taako experience. Wanna give you the _full _Taako experience.” Pets turned to caresses and he leant into the touch, thumb grazing his lip, slender fingers reaching out to tuck a lock behind his ear. 

“I'd love that.” He found himself saying, and his chest buzzed with something warmer than the wine at Taakos crooked smile. 

“Hell yeah, my dude.” Taako tried to drink from his glass. It failed, spectacularly, of course, because that’s how gravity works, and he wiped his face before shuffling out of his position. Kravitz, head lolling on the back of the couch, made a noise of complaint at the sudden lack of warmth, but a comforting pat of his chest made him sigh and watch with a confused but endearing grin. He shuffled and after a few grunts as elbows dug into places and knees into backs, Taako had settled fully onto his lap, back against the arm of the chair and legs curled into his side and chest. 

“Better.” He winked, chugged the rest of his not spilled wine, and Kravitz hoped the wine would cover the growing flush in his cheeks. 

“You know,” he muttered, arm having to awkwardly encompass Taakos waist now and free hand sitting on his leg, “you could have just sat up next to me.” 

“Well, natch, but Kravitz. Honeybun. Sweetums.” He reached to pat his cheek again and Kravitz snorted, wine fuzzy and warm. “Your couch fucking sucks ass.” 

The snort turned into a full-bodied laugh, and he clunked his glass down on the end table out of fear of spillage. “It was – it was free with the apartment! It's barely mine!” 

“Your couch sucks asssss, Kravvy.” They were both glass-free as Taako wound his arm around Kravitz’s shoulders and settled in his position better, hand on his chest. Kravitz was suddenly hyper-aware of his hand on Taakos thigh. “Views much better from here, anyway.” 

“Yeah?” Was all he could really think of to say, thoughts sluggish and lap warm. “You know I - I wasn’t complaining about the move. Jus – just pointing it out. Thas all.” 

Taako hummed and rested his head on his shoulder, slipping his hand to his neck. “You gonna start complaining now?” 

“Nah.” He shrugged, and Taako moved to look at him properly. “Can't say I mind too much.” 

For a second, the elf just looked at him, slight frown gracing his features and lip caught between his teeth. Kravitz felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “You always like this?” 

“Huh?” 

“So fuckin. Chill with everything.” Taakos drunken grin was gone and replaced with that frown, wavering eyes studying him. “I’ve been a downright asshole to you since – and I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve been a dick too, but like – fuck me, right? You didn’t have to help me, but you did.” 

“Yeah. I mean, I guess.” Kravitz was frowning himself now, wishing they had that easy back and forth going again. 

“I just mean – fuck, yknow? Why’d you help me?” 

“i-” Taako was asking questions that he didn’t really want to answer, couldn’t really think of the answers, and he struggled to form anything coherent. The elf was looking at him expectantly – and fuck, if he couldn’t say no to those eyes. “It was just the right thing to do, I guess. The other guy seemed like a dick and - I dunno, Taako.” He shrugged. “You seemed like you really needed the help and - I get that. I get - I get having other people shit on something you worked hard on.” 

His hand were tracing random patterns on Taakos back and he was still leaning into the touch on his neck, soft and warm, and in the midst of the silence he felt a thumb brush along the line of his jaw. 

“So you’re just an all-round good Samaritan, huh?” Taakos grin was back and Kravitz felt himself visibly relax at the mood change, rolling his eyes and giving an undignified snort. 

“Thats me. Your local poster boy.” 

That earned a laugh in return and his own grin widened. “Oh fuck yeah, I can totally see that. You helping some old lady across the road or some dumb shit like that – oh God, you were totally a boy scout, werent you?” 

“Guilty as charged,” Kravitz admitted, and it served to only make him laugh harder. “Why’d you wanna know, anyway?” 

The question served to cut his laughter short, drifting off into a stuttery kind of nervousness as it was obviously unexpected. “Reasons.” He said, but Kravitz rolled his eyes. 

“Aaaand they aaaare?” He prodded. 

Taako was sitting on his lap, hand on his neck and wrapped around his shoulders, face comfortably close, and smile crooked and soft. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were flushed from the wine, possibly something else, his shirt was half unbuttoned and for a second, Kravitz thought he looked beautiful. 

“Just making sure I could do this.” He said, and then he was kissing him. And it felt so, so nice. 

When he pulled back Kravitz wasn’t sure who drew in again, but he didn’t care, his mind was comfortably numb and the only thing that he could focus on was the soft skin of Taakos hip, the way he caressed his cheek, how his breath hiccupped when kravitz slipped fingers beneath his shirt. Nothing else mattered. Taako was kissing him and felt so warm and soft pressed against his chest and the smell of his shampoo wound its way into his brain with a pleasant, soothing touch. His brain didn’t want to think of anything more. 

And it didn’t, for a while. For a while Kravitz focused on kissing Taako, and touching Taako, on the sound he made when he grabbed his ass. It was intoxicating, and he wondered if the booze was amplifying everything; if this drunken kiss was actually terrible but wine made them both oblivious. But who cares? Who was watching? He let himself slip into endless oblivion that consisted of nothing more than Taakos lips and tongue and the softness of his hair, and time practically slowed to a stop. 

Then his hands were moving of their own accord and he was snapped back to reality as they broke apart, breathing heavily and Taako looking down dazed and confused at Kravitz’s hands on his chest. 

“Taako we – stop. We cant – we cant be doing this.” He heard himself say, and Taako was swaying on his lap, looking about as confused as he felt. Why did they stop? Why did he make them stop? His chest was screaming yes and his body was screaming yes but his brain was muddled and confused and too fuzzy with a mixture of emotions too complicated to deal with now, too wine-addled to pick apart, and all he could understand was that this shouldn’t be happening. 

But he didn’t know why, and he hated the space between them. 

“Youre my client,” is what he came up with, fumbled and fake and slurred with wine and shame, “we shouldn’t - we cant do this.” 

“Oh.” Was all that Taako said, inside of Kravitzs chest something broke. 

Warmth was gone as he moved off of his lap, off of the couch, stumbling to his feet and hands sloppy and shaking fumbling around his pockets for his phone. “Im gonna – im gonna go home. I’ll call my sister.” 

“Okay.” Kravitz said, cold, horrible, and found that it was all he could say with his mouth as dry as parchment and his stomach a broiling, angry pit. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Right?” Taako wasn’t looking up from his screen and his words were short and sharp, knives to his chest, and his hands felt like lead though all he wanted was to move them and bring him back into his arms. 

“Of course.” He replied, and he hated every word of it. 

“Cool.” Things were not cool. Kravitz hated cool. Hated this. Hated Taako not even saying goodbye as he left, just picking up his jacket and leaving, hated the slam of the door behind him that rattled his teeth and made him wince. Hated how quiet his apartment was after he left and the half empty wine glass that still sat as his side. He downed the rest of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this posted like 10 minutes early and i hadnt finished editing so goobye me, anyway
> 
> "it was meant to be a oneshot," i say, through gritted teeth as i watch myself type out yet other chapter cliffhanger, "it was never meant to go over 10 words,"
> 
> As long as food poisoning doesnt rear its ugly head again and all goes well, the final chapter should be up within the week!!! we nearly done!!


	3. Chapter 3

Kravitz was not avoiding Taako. 

The fact that he hadn’t seen him in three days, had decided to work from home for the week, and practically never left his house was not because he was avoiding Taako; it was simply because he had gotten backlogged at work, and working from home was always more productive in the long run. 

That was what he had texted Brad, anyway. And what he told himself in the mirror every morning, before he inevitably gave in and decided to stay home. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why he didn’t want to risk seeing him again. They got along perfectly well before, and one kiss – or two, or three - wasn’t going to change anything. They were adults, for Gods sake. They could be perfectly reasonable and amicable about the fact that Kravitz had groped him through his jeans and then told him they couldn’t be more than friends. 

Okay. Maybe he was a little sure in why he didn’t want to risk seeing him again. 

Everything was just so confusing. On one hand, looking back on that evening and the wine and the flirting between them all those weeks prior – kissing Taako just _made sense. _It felt good. Being around Taako, spending time with Taako and kissing him and maybe wanting more – it filled that void in his chest that ached so cold through his bones and gnawed at him every night he lay in bed. He liked their banter and the food and Taako's crooked smile, and the way he made his days more exciting. He liked _Taako_.

But at the same time, it was like he wasn’t allowed to. Be it his pride or simple pettiness that prevented him from acknowledging, it, Taako’s place in his head was reserved only for people who got on his nerves and who he, on all accounts, should not enjoy the presence of. The little nook he had carved out for himself in Kravitz’s chest over the past few weeks begged to differ – a little nook that sat alone now, and though warped in its reasoning and existence, now only proved to this part of him that Taako was no good for him, that _Taako_equaled _bad_. 

Taako was not bad. Taako was wonderful. But the principle behind it, the Fact that Taako was currently making him feel bad – even if it was directly because of his absence – was what tore him up and had him at war with himself. How could he like Taako? With all the evidence pointing towards how he should be feeling the contrary, how? 

It was too complicated and too complex for him to think about. The ball of nettled up feelings were too wrapped and tightly tangled for him to understand and it was just – it was easier to ignore. Much easier to ignore the root of his problems. 

But it had been three days, and even he knew that was too long of a time to go by without doing anything; because as emotionally confused as he was right now, and no matter how much he was trying to convince himself he did the right thing, Kravitz keeps his promises. And if he promised to help Taako, then he was going to help Taako. Yes. Maybe he would do it in an incredibly convoluted way so he could have as least contact with him as possible and ignore the way his chest ached at the thought of him; but this was his life, and he could do whatever he wanted, and that included making bad decisions. 

The first step of his terrible, no good, and probably going to backfire plan was to text Hurley and organize a confrontation time. She had contact with Taako, and if she could organize the day they confront Sazed, that was one less painful conversation he had in his life. He already had all the paperwork gathered up together – _paperwork _ was a strong term, half of it was pages he’d printed off from a PDF of a famous case study all highlighted to look important, and the rest was just local laws regarding food service and parking spaces – in the three days he’d spent at home, so really, all that was left was to actually _talk_ to the guy. 

Which, of course, was where his plan fell through. Because that definitely involved seeing Taako, and there was absolutely no way around that one. 

Maybe he could make Brad do it? 

His phone felt heavy in his hand and fingers, lined with lead, refused to type, even as the screen dimmed and locked. He needed to text her. He couldn’t text her. He had to text her. 

His phone buzzed, and he immediately slammed it into the floor on pure impulse. 

“Oh, fuck,” He mumbled, falling to his knees and picking it up with gentle hands, “oh fuck, oh shit – damnit -” brushing it off like a dusty piece of chinery. Seeing that it wasn’t broken he sighed in relief, then immediately retracted the sigh, upon seeing who had texted him. 

_ “been busy 4 a while, huh? Wanna do dinner next weekend?” _

Immediately guilt churned through his stomach and he resisted the urge to simply give up and lay on the ground, letting his head rest on the dirty carpet as it was with a groan. With all of this drama with Taako and – and even before that, with his lunch breaks spent at the truck's countertop trading quips and snark, he hadn’t seen Barry in _weeks_. They usually only met for lunches considering how busy both of their schedules were most of the time, and with those busy... 

Social graces bode him to accept the invitation and be grateful Barry wasn’t prying into his personal business. 

Common sense knew it was a trap and that he should run away, screaming, as soon as he could. 

Kravitz grit his teeth, sighed, lied to himself that it would be fine, and texted back _ “sure! Sounds great, text me the details asap!” _

What was one more nail in his proverbial coffin, anyway? It was just a dinner, and probably a badly orchestrated attempt at a double date that he would leave early or suffer through until they made awkward goodbyes and never saw each other again. On the plus side, Barry would stop bothering him about it. On the cons, it probably would mean he would be on less than comfortable terms with his wife. Not the worst thing in the world but, again; he would much rather be on _no _terms than _bad _ones. 

The screen dimmed on his phone and he tapped it to keep it alive, back in his messages and reminded of what he had originally been intending to do. It wouldn’t be hard. She was only four messages down and one swipe away from a call. It was easy. Just a simple conversation. 

He still regretted it the second the call started dialing, but now he was far too deep to go back and could only pray that she wouldn’t pick up. 

“Kravitz!” Because, of course, she did. He faked a smile through gritted teeth despite the fact it was a phone call. “How have you been, buddy? What's going on?” 

“Hey, Hurley!” He pressed a fake cheer into his tone and hoped it didn’t seep through acidic, still knelt on the floor crouched over his phone like a gremlin. “Nothing much, really. How's Sloane?” 

“Great!” There was a creaking as she adjusted in her seat, and he was guiltily reminded of being on his third day off. “We’ve been meaning to ask you out again sometime, actually, it’s real nice that you called.” 

Kravitz settled more comfortably onto his carpet, folding his legs beneath him. “Yeah, we should definitely organize something soon, but I was actually calling you about Taako.” 

Silence. Uncomfortable. He pressed on, unable to sit with no response. “Uh, about the truck thing? He wanted us to confront Sazed...?” 

“Oh!” And she was laughing over the phone, and a sigh he didn’t know he was clutching released from his chest. “Sorry, I thought maybe he got into some trouble or something. I thought you had guys sorted all that out, though?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, and sucked that sigh right up back into the tenseness of his teeth. 

“Well I mean – Taako moved? Said he didn’t want to bother with it anymore?” He had the faintest feeling that she was twirling her hair around her finger, nose scrunched in slight confusion. “I helped him pack up yesterday. I assumed you talked him out of it.” 

“Oh.” And now it was his turn to draw out an awkward silence, trying to process through several thoughts and emotions at once. Relief, at the thought that he was saved from an awkward confrontation, and then immediate guilt and embarrassment. A touch of confusion and something more gnarled, something too tangled and shy for him to unravel and understand. “Right. Sorry. It must have slipped my mind.” 

There was no way in hell Hurley believed that, but she gave no hint that she didn’t aside from a brief pause. “It's alright. You’ve been off sick the past few days, haven't you? Brad shot me a text to see if we’d had something to do with it.” 

“Yes,” he said, and really, was it even a lie when he couldn’t think about Taako without feeling nauseous? “I’m sure to be better soon. Thank you for your concern.” 

“It's no problem. Sloane misses you.” 

“Let's get together soon.” Dry and stilled and both aware of the fakeness, the conversation ended quickly after that, but Kravitz remained on the floor for a long time after he’d hung up and just proceeded to think. A dangerous thing, to think. Required, but dangerous, and difficult. Uncomfortable. 

He had won. _Right_?

The victory felt a lot hollower than he’d thought it’d be. Which was confusing, and weird, and just complicated and made everything hurt; because he’d won, and he’d gotten what he had wanted, so why didn’t this feel good? Why was he overwhelmed with regret for something he couldn’t quite grasp? There was this feeling of _wrongness _to his victory that didn’t belong, and yes, he could untangle that he was guilty of never keeping to his end of the bargain with Taako but it was all still so _wrong_. Something had gone bad. It did not feel right. 

Things did not feel right for a while, after that. Work was insufferable. Work was work and work and work and endless, and Brad's concern grew deeper than furrowed brows and passing comments, and work was work and work and Kravitz couldn’t sleep. Kravitz couldn’t sleep. He subsisted off of coffee and energy bars and brief naps in between paperwork, and Barry always fumbled around asking if he was okay, just enough that he could brush it off and move onto something else sleeplessly slurred or dry. Because he was okay. Everything was okay. He had won, even if it did not feel right. 

Sazed made good business. Kravitz found somewhere else to park. 

Through the grapevine, he discovered Taako had moved into that place that he considered getting him a permit for what felt like years ago. He’d crunched the numbers and figured that Taako must’ve gotten the permit long before he had moved. Maybe he’d even had It from the beginning. It didn’t matter. 

Taako apparently made good business. Kravitz chose to avoid that part of town. 

He went out drinking with Sloane and Hurley that weekend. They didn’t bring it up, talked about work and cases and all he could picture was them behind the wheel of a drag car, drifting around corners screaming with laughter and finding comfort in the safety of anonymity. He pictured Taako hanging out of the back with hair cascading through the air, and found it better to focus on their matching Ram and Raven keychains that glinted off the keys on the table. He asked Hurley how her investigation into street racing was going. 

“Difficult,” she had shrugged with a grin, and shared a knowing glance with Sloane that wasn’t as secretive as she would have liked to have thought. “They're much craftier than you would think.” 

“I can imagine,” He smiled, and sipped at his drink, and they moved on. 

Another week was passing and it was work and it was work and it was work, and the weekend approached until it was knocking on his door with a deadline and the reminder to pick up cheap wine. The seventeen-dollar wine, because he wasn’t an _asshole_, but he also wasn’t willing to part with more than twenty dollars on a bottle that he would probably only drink one glass of. Despite everything, he ended up actually being slightly early, which gave him ample opportunity to sit in his car and brood under the guise of admiring Barry's house. It was nice. Two floored and red with a simple garden that boasted weekly tending. White picket fence. What looked to be handmade wooden decorative flowers hung awry or piled into the corners of their front deck. 

The house stared him down with a glower, and he shrunk in his car, wishing he could go home. 

Eventually time enough passed that it would be rude to wait any longer, and he sighed something deep and bone aching before hauling himself out of the car. Things would be fine. They would have dinner, it would be slightly awkward, Barry would never bother him about it again, and everything would be fine and normal and he could go back to his days that blurred into each other again like a normal person. At the very least, he was guaranteed good food. 

Granted Barry wasn’t cooking. 

He hopped up the porch steps with an eagerness stemmed only from understanding it would be over soon, knocking with the hand not tucked into the pocket of his jacket protective from the crisp fall air. There was some muffled talking, a dulled crash, footsteps; and Barry was at the door, all grins and a dirty apron and slightly crooked glasses. “Well, look what the cat dragged in!” 

Kravitz relaxed a centimeter, and stepped past him into the bathing warmth of their home. “Lucky you, huh?” 

“Oh, absolutely. Thanks for finally coming, man.” Barry took his jacket from him and hung it up on a coatrack that looked shamefully unused, empty aside from his own now. Kravitz shrugged with an only partially forced smile and tucked his hands neatly into the pockets of his pants. 

“About time, if I'm honest. Sorry I kept putting it off for so long but – I'm sure you can understand why.” 

“Yeah. Heh. Uh.” Barry immediately cringed, rubbing the back of his neck. “About that. About that whole shebang.” 

“Barry.” Kravitz’s smile had dropped, not surprised at all but absolutely willing to milk this out as far as it would go. He’d expected nothing less. At this point, he was grateful Barry was upfront about it rather than keeping the façade as long as he could. 

“I swear, Kravitz, you’ll like him. Just give him a chance, will you? Please?” He steered Kravitz further into the house and away from the front door, down a long hallway ignoring his noises of protest. “It’s just one evening, and then we’ll never bother you about it again, I promise. Cross my heart, all that shit.” 

Kravitz sighed, and let himself be led into the kitchen, letting himself be seemingly at ease with the situation. Barry didn’t need to know he’d had to give himself a pep talk for twenty minutes this morning just to make it to the car. Barry didn’t need to know he had come prepared to die. “Fine. But you owe me, Barold.” 

Surely, it wouldn’t be too bad. He needed something to distract himself, anyway – his paperwork just wasn’t cutting it anymore, the silence too aggravating and the loneliness eating away at his chest. And who was he kidding, pretending like he didn’t know why every day had turned into a chore and a constant battle to forget - he just couldn’t stop thinking about _Taako_; the look on his face when Kravitz had pushed him away, the broken disappointment, the way he’d said goodbye so cold he didn’t even know it would be the last time. And how Kravitz ached for those arms again – to have him back in his life, with his crooked grin and high-pitched laughter and soft, gentle hands that were always too warm but perfect enough to hold. The carpark sat empty now and reminded him like a knife to the chest every morning of what he had done. He’d never thought he’d miss that stupid painted taco truck. 

Never thought he’d miss _Taako_.

Their banter, the flirting beneath thinly veiled insults, how every morning was spent in a sharp-tongued battle of wits that ended in a triumphant smile for Taako and a brown paper bag of something for Kravitz. ‘Just practice’, he would say, or that ‘you looked like you needed the pick me up’, even if he was already holding coffee. It had taken him far too long to appreciate what they had and to realize exactly what it was; and now it was gone. _Taako _was gone. Taako was gone, and with it, any chance to really explore what small and tentative thing they had been growing together. 

Knowing that it was entirely his fault, too, didn’t exactly help that dull pain in his chest. 

“Join that line, lawyer boy. Barry’s got a list of owed favors longer than the goddamned mafia.” 

That dull pain in his chest that suddenly stuttered, and then leapt into overdrive, at the introduction of Barry’s wife. 

“Nice décor, bone daddy.” Lup was leant against the kitchen bench wooden spoon in hands and Barry in the other, a lithe arm looped around his shoulders to draw him into a kiss. “Barry mentioned you were goth but I didn’t actually think you_ were_. I dig it, though, Hot Topic’s got some wicked shit.” 

“Um,” Said Kravitz, trying to figure out how to talk again – or, more specifically, trying to process the information that Barry was married to a practical carbon copy of the very man he had been trying to forget this entire evening. 

Their hair length was the same but hers was dyed with brilliant red streaks, curling around the tips of her shoulders that were bare in an off the shoulder carousel tucked into, fittingly, blue torn jeans. She was grinning, a grin so achingly similar but now cracked with a slight of hesitance as she glanced over to Barry and then back to Kravitz. “Everything all good bones? Kravitz? Is it the nickname thing? I can drop that if you want, totes, its fine like -” 

“I need to leave.” He choked out, turning on his heel and missing the look of surprise and concern on both of their faces. He couldn’t - he couldn’t sit down for a dinner opposite – she looked too much, _so _much like him, and now as he pulled on his coat she was giving him that same look he gave Kravitz so many nights ago. He absolutely couldn’t do this. 

“Kravitz, is everything okay, man?” Barry was at his side but he simply shook his head. 

“I’ll call you. I’m sorry I can’t stay – truly. Some other time.” The lie was pushed through his teeth as naturally as the fake smile slipped into place, the wine he’d brought long abandoned on the kitchen counter but it was fine, it wasn’t expensive. There was more at home he planned to drown in the second he left. 

Then the front door opened right as he went to turn the handle, and he found himself face to face with a nightmare. 

Which, honestly, he couldn’t describe Taako as – how could he even describe Taako? How could one do so? The man was an enigma, both to Kravitz’s heart and in personality, a knife to his soul and yet a soothing balm – just seeing him was like a sucker punch that bloomed violent warmth in his chest. A nightmare to a hesitant dream to an aching wistful regret. He’d brought wine too. Of course, he did – and the good stuff, too, nothing like the cheap crap Kravitz had pulled from supermarket freezer doors because Taako had _class_, because Taako _cared _about people, because Taako _cared_ about this dinner. 

Guilt ravaged his brain at his behavior towards every person in this room, and it seemed to show, as Taako steeled his eyes and held out his hand. 

“Kravitz.” He said, and the formality crushed him. 

“Taako. I was just -” he glanced back at the others, who were glancing between the two trying to guess the reason for the tension, and sighed. “I was just coming to greet you. It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Taako nodded, and Lup looked like she was about to drop dead out of shock. “You got looped into this whole scheme too?” 

He breezed past and with barely hidden shaking hands Kravitz shut the front door behind him, shrugging and swallowing the lump in his throat. “Naturally. Lup is very insistent.” 

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.” The elf muttered and disappeared into the kitchen. “Am I gonna have to fix all this myself, lulu? Jeezy creezy you – what even is this?” 

After a second of silent eye-contact conversation between her and Barry Lup followed her brother into the kitchen, sharp retorts and thrown insults fading into the background and leaving the two of them standing awkwardly in the hallway. Kravitz examined his feet. Barry was picking at a particularly flourishing plant. 

Silence. 

“So, he was the taco truck guy?” Barry started, and Kravitz was immediately done with this conversation. Done with this dinner. Done with everything life had thrown at him. 

“You_ didn’t know _ ?” He hissed back in quiet disbelief, fingers splayed in panic. “He’s your brother in law! He owned a taco truck _right outside my business! _ How did you not know?” 

“It's not like he told me where he was set up!” Barry spluttered back, both of them whisper-yelling at this point like a couple of fools. “How was I supposed to know you guys were talking about each other the whole time?” 

“You - he talked about me?” The revelation struck him hard and rendered him quiet, Barry simply furrowing his brow further in confusion. 

“No fucking shit he talked about you, I mean – Kravitz, buddy, you had that thing going for months. Why wouldn’t he have?” 

“I didn’t think he-” Words struggled to form and encapsulate what he was feeling, thick and chunky and static. “I didn’t - look, really, I-” 

“How about we just get this over and done with, okay?” Barry's hand was suddenly on his shoulder calming and guiding, leading him to a lounge with soft chairs and a wooden plate of sweet cheese. “It won’t be too bad. It’s not like we’re going to force you to talk to each other.” 

“Right,” Kravitz said, fighting off a daze, and let himself be sat down. “It won’t be too bad.” 

It was very bad. 

Conversation subsisted of mostly Taako and Lup, sitting next to each other on the couch and laughing over things Kravitz couldn’t lower the ringing in his ears to hear. Barry, sat next to him, would comment sometimes and offer him a way into the conversation, to which things would grow very stilted and quiet until one of the twins would start up again and continue on like nothing happened. Taako wouldn’t look at him. Somehow, being ignored was worse than cold and cruel acknowledgment; at least before Taako had allowed him to exist in his life even as something he despised, while now he was nothing but something to be discarded as soon as possible and wasn’t even worthy of a glance. He didn't blame Lup, or either of them, really. The whole thing was awkward and terrible and tense, and dinner hadn’t even started yet. 

Then dinner actually did start, and it got worse. 

They sat in silence for a while, dishing out and eating in the quiet. Conversation felt unattainable. Tension was thick enough that he could practically see it and cut through it with a knife, laying heavy between the four of them untouchable and threatening. 

“This really is wonderful, Lup,” Barry offered up, and she responded with a sweet smile and eyes that screamed _help me, what the fuck is going on. _More silence. Did she know? 

“So, Kravitz,” Lup started, poking around her plate. He tried to not notice Taako's shoulders visibly tensing. “Where do you work? Barry mentioned you went to law school?” 

A safe question. Terrible, but safe. “I own my own firm downtown, actually. Only started up a few years ago.” 

“By Sloanes place,” Barry added on, blissfully unhelpful, “about five minutes from my work. We go to that food court you like for lunch sometimes.” 

Slight confusion, then realization, dawned on Lup’s face, and everyone at the table cringed backward in the sudden knowledge that _Lup __hadn’t known. _“Oh, fuck. You’re the lawyer guy.” 

“Can we please not talk about this?” Taako interrupted, at the same time that Kravitz protested that “really, it's not a big deal -” 

“Hell yeah it’s a big deal!” She turned to her brother, who was glaring at his plate with hunched over shoulders. “Why didn’t you - _that’s _why this feels like a fourth-grade prom dance?” 

“Can we just eat and get this fuckin’ thing over with already?” He sniped back, spearing a slice of pastry with his fork rather too aggressively. “If I wanted to talk about it I would have fucking brought it up by now.” 

Lup scrunched her mouth in a frowny pout, but turned back to the table. “Fine.” 

“_Fine_.”

Kravitz felt remarkably like he was in preschool, and their friend group was having their first fight over who got to use the play-doh first, and would have laughed at the sheer childish absurdity of the situation had it not been incredibly painful. 

They ate in silence for a few more minutes, the awkwardness of it all practically making his stomach shrivel and his heart crawl into his knees. Barry, sat next to him, kept giving him sympathetic glances in between blinks of quiet conversation between him and Lup, who eventually took a breath and started talking again with a bright smile. 

“So Kravitz, I've heard you actually know Sloane and Hurley?” 

This one felt safer. Her smile, less so, but it seemed like an extended olive branch. “I actually met Hurley through a case of mine, when she was the leading officer. Sloane happens to work nearby and we got along quite well through transit, and It was a nice surprise to find out they were married. We go out sometimes.” 

“Yeah, they're a sweet couple.” She hummed, clearly biding for the right moment. Kravitz grew uncomfortable. “We haven't kept in contact much lately.” 

A beat. 

“Though Hurley did call the other day, she actually mentioned that you had called, asking about Taako-” 

“_Fuck _this.” Slammed hands on the table interrupted her and Taako stood with a screech of his chair, water glasses threatening to wet the table as he pushed away. “I don’t want to fucking _deal _with this right now.” 

None of them stopped him as he stormed through the kitchen, the sound of a door slamming cutting and reverberating in the room as they sat facing each other. Lup sighed. Barry slowly lowered his forkful. Kravitz stood. 

At least that was something he could understand Taako on. He was so, _so _tired. 

“Well, it's been a lovely evening, Lup, Barry,” He pushed his chair into the table and straightened his shirt, trying to not glance into the kitchen where Taako had just stormed off and then pretending like he wasn’t glancing every few seconds, “but I really think I should be going now. Thank you so much for inviting me here.” 

“What?” Lup stood as soon as he had started speaking, and was staring at him in disbelief. “No! You can't just leave, what the fuck? Go talk to him!” 

Kravitz blanked. His feet wouldn’t move. “Why would I – why do you want me to talk to him? You’re the one who wouldn’t stop talking about it!” 

“Well because neither of you are being fucking grown-ass men and talking it out yourselves, apparently!” She waved her hands in exasperation and Kravitz was growing increasingly panicked, this situation very much not one he was prepared for and an evening full of unwanted anxiety pushed down finally beginning to crash onto him. “Be adults! Talk out your shit!” 

“I don’t want to talk to him, you talk to him!” 

“You’re the one who fucked this whole thing up! You talk to him!” Barry had stood too, though he wasn’t looking like he was interested in getting involved in their hissed fight, holding his glass of wine like It was at risk of being slapped to the ground by a flailing hand. Neither Lup or Kravitz had moved, either, so they were all standing around the dining room table full of half-finished plates and arguing back and forth like a couple of children. Kravitz shook his head. 

“Why would he want to talk to me when I'm the one who screwed up! You're his sister! You started this! You do it!” 

“We can all agree it won't be me then, right?” Barry whispered back, recoiling with hands raised in surrender as the two hissed “yes!” in response. 

“Jeezy Creezy, I get it, fine. I’ll get dessert started I guess.” He shuffled off down the hall to where Kravitz presumed the basement door was, not that he had any time to wonder as Lup immediately slipped around the table and began pushing him towards the kitchen and back door. His shoes, too shiny and slick, slipped easy on the tile and he was facing his doom within seconds. 

“_You _fucked it up, _you _fix it, it's on you guys to sort your goddamn shit out!” He was stumbling backward against his will and against her pushes and he clung to the door frame, a last-ditch effort to save himself. “Be adults!” 

“He _hates _me, Lup!” he begged. “Why would he ever want to listen to me?” 

“For the same reason he didn’t punch your ass the second he walked in the door.” With a final shove she pushed him outside and into the cold night air, slamming the door shut behind him. It locked with a click and, despite his frantic jiggles, refused to budge. He let his head fall against the glass, defeated, and groaned. 

Lup didn’t know what she was forcing him to do. If anything was clear from that outburst, from their argument, it was that Taako had absolutely no interest in talking to him unless it was with barbed words or a glib tongue; and really, he did he deserve any less? After what he had done, despite everything Kravitz regretted – did he really have the right to say that the hatred was undeserved? Did he really have the right to come out of this evening as anything less than a villain? 

“There's a spare key under the mat.” 

The voice surprised him not in its existence but its frankly disheartened tone, and Kravitz turned to lean against the house, facing Taako who had his face turned to the sky and a cigarette bud flickering loose in his hand. He didn’t look at him. Kravitz didn’t move. 

After a few more seconds of tense silence between them Taako sighed, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag before finally letting his gaze fall to Kravitz. It had been fine before, the silence, the expansive rift between them, but the look in Taako's eyes and the way he knew exactly what the elf was about to say made the ache in Kravitz’s chest all-consuming, overwhelming, and it was all he could do to not stride over and wrap him in his arms. 

“Look, Kravitz -” Taako started, but he was having none of it. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“What?” the look of shock was crystalline and clear on Taako's face at his interruption, but he surged on, taking a hesitant step forward. 

“Gods, Taako, I'm so sorry. I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you and pretending like I knew what was best for you, for me, for – Taako, Taako there is _ nothing _I regret more in this world than pushing you away when I did.” 

He was slowly, surely making his way forward, small steps that let Taako escape if he chose, but the elf was frozen in place leant against the fence surrounding the deck. Kravitz swallowed the lump in his throat and pressed on. “I don’t have an excuse for what I did. I can't even explain why I did what I did - I was, I was just – Taako, you are _wild _and _unpredictable _and _stunning _and so, _so _wonderful, everything about you drives me nuts and I wasn’t expecting that to suddenly be a good thing. To suddenly – to _want _your stupid truck there every day, to realize that I actually _liked _you and to have that change so fast from our old relationship I was -” A sigh, another small step. Taako's hands were shaking. 

“I was scared. And too proud. I was drunk and it felt wrong because I was _ meant _to hate you, I had always thought I’d hated you, but it was all just - I never hated you, Taako.” They were just a few steps apart now, an arm's length away, but he was done moving. “I think I just hated myself for having too much pride to admit I liked you.” 

At this point, he didn’t know what would happen next; if Taako would rebut everything, tear him down piece by piece with scathing words and broken-hearted laments; if Taako simply left him in silence and cut him from his life completely; if Taako agreed in the sentiment and laughed about the silly fling. He didn’t know. Should he care? Did he deserve to? The cold night air sent shivers down the back of his spine and only served to tighten his chest even further, to restrict his breathing to short, stuttering breaths. The cold did that, he would say, if anyone asked. Simply the cold. 

Simply the cold, he would say, to explain why his hands were shaking, or why he jumped at the freezing touch on his wrist. 

“You’re a total fucking idiot, you know that, right?” Taako had moved away from the fence and was standing in front of him now, fingers still grazing the inside of Kravitz’s wrist as a grounding touch. “Like. The biggest idiot that I know – which is really saying something, considering I know a guy who tried to carve his goldfish a wooden tank.” 

The words brought a slight smile to his lips and Kravitz's shrugged, still not daring to move closer. “I know.” 

“Yeah. You’re an asshole too, but I figured you kind of covered that one already.” He shrugged, and with a light touch captured Kravitz’s hand in his, linking deft and frozen fingers with his gaze averted. “But you’re an asshole that apologized. So that’s a whole fuckton better than most other shitsticks I've dealt with.” 

Kravitz paused for a moment, not really knowing how to respond to the words, to the gaze that flirted away, to the touches that felt so sacredly intimate. “Taako, I -” 

“Nah, shut up. I'm sick of monologues and all of that bullshit, I get enough lectures from my sister. Something you’re now more than aware of.” the hand held in his squeezed tightly and the other moved up to rest on his chest, Kravitz’s heartbeat picking up the second the touch began. Taako finally, finally, looked up. “But you’re sorry, right?” 

“Yes. More - more than anything.” Kravitz breathed, and found he couldn’t tear himself away from his eyes. 

“And you still,” a cough, a slight glance away, almost endearing embarrassment, “you still don’t hate me?” 

He got the undertone. The fact the question was asked at all made it hard to not stumble over his words. “More than anything.” 

“Cool. Cool beans. Cool shit.” Taako patted his chest, gaze gone again, but not out of fear this time, something else. Something that raised the corner of his lips a slight and made a huge weight dissolve from Kravitz’s chest. “You, uh. Hm. You planning on kissing me anytime soon?” 

_ More than anything. _

Taako's lips were freezing, and the hands that slipped around the nape of his neck raised goosebumps, but the curve of his body against his and the soft sigh that escaped when he threaded his hair through his fingers was utterly, entirely, perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway yeah i got food poisoning again and update schedule? who is she?
> 
> I cant believe i took a stupid idea for a one shot and turned it into 3 chapters i am literally physically incapable of writing short pieces but anyway! thank you for reading and all of the wonderful support! your comments always make my day and thank you for sticking around for this badly scheduled ride :)

**Author's Note:**

> Aka "Let Kravitz Sleep"  
It took me like 7 months but happy taakitz week folks!!! I absolutely know nothing of law, food trucks, or anything else mentioned in this fic, so please dont @ me, but this idea was too much fun and too idiotic to NOT write. A huge thanks to Fandomstuff and desireeharding who beta'd and for desiree who came up with this idea with me like! 72 years ago babe! we finally made it look at us go!!!
> 
> Ive got most of chapter two of this 'was meant to be a one shot but i wrote too much' fic written out, so itll hopefully be done by taakitz week. :)


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